


Shock of Champagne (swapped Phantom Thief AU)

by orphan_account



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - Talentswap (Dangan Ronpa), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitals, How Do I Tag, I swore to myself I wouldn't write one, I wrote this in like an hour, Iruma Miu's Dirty Mouth, Kinda, M/M, Murder Mystery, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phantom Thief AU, Rushed, Slow Burn, Spoilers, but I did, hopefully, i guess, tagged mature because of what what happens in future chapters, uh, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28376286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Whoever this new thief was, they were smart. Efficient, smart, and careful. They executed their crimes with was looked like effortless agility, and left the police scrambling for Ouma’s help within just a few weeks.Ouma finally felt as if he’d met his match.-Ouma, an infamous detective, feels like crime-solving is getting boring. So when a phantom thief appears on the radar, there's no way he's letting it go. Of course, things get deeper than just a friendly rivalry when something worse than theft drives the two to work together against a common enemy.
Relationships: Harukawa Maki & Momota Kaito & Saihara Shuichi, Harukawa Maki & Saihara Shuichi, Iruma Miu & K1-B0 & Oma Kokichi, Iruma Miu & Oma Kokichi, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 44
Kudos: 243





	1. Detective

Out of all the cases that Ouma Kokichi had solved, this was the one that gave him a challenge.

Recently, there had been a series of missing items spread across the country, seemingly sporadic and random. A family heirloom here, a rich man’s watch there. It was odd, and definitely caught Ouma’s attention for at least a little bit, but was overshadowed in the smallness of the crimes.

That changed with the disappearance of the famous Celestia Ludenburg’s priceless golden earrings. 

Of course, the interest in this mysterious thief rose through the roof with the heist. The police were diving into it, and Ouma watched, now extremely curious about it. When the investigations were over, it spread like wildfire the conclusion reached. A perfect heist. No evidence to use, barely any useful clues. Just a small, blurry clip of a video that showed a dark blur overcoming the camera lens and the earrings were gone. It raised attention to the previous smaller items, which also led to nothing. 

Whoever this new thief was, they were smart. Efficient, smart, and careful. They executed their crimes with was looked like effortless agility, and left the police scrambling for Ouma’s help within just a few weeks.

Ouma finally felt as if he’d met his match.

* * *

Over the past few months, the robberies had more consistent targets. Big-ticket items, but never the one that anyone would expect. Instead of going for the priciest or most esteemed relics to steal, this thief - now simply dubbed Shadow - went for expensive but unassuming. Rather than take an anciently old and famous painting that drew in all the attention at an art museum, Shadow would steal a painting right down a hall next to it, or just the frame. Things that would for sure fetch in a hefty profit, but not the best.

Most supposed it was because the slightly lower value meant a less difficult time selling it - no one would buy an easily recognizable stolen item. For now, Ouma went along with that, though his instinct told him there was definitely another reason along with it.

Either way, the police now had a better time guessing correctly about the location of the next heist, but not so much on actually catching the thief in the act. While Ouma found it funny to watch them flail for evidence or a better chance to finally arrest the criminal, he thought that he’d had enough sitting on the sidelines. He was  _ Ouma Kokichi,  _ the Trickster Detective, for fucks sake! This was the type of case he loved to sink his teeth into, so he made sure he got his opportunity.

When he faced Shadow for the first time, it was a night to remember.

. . .

  
  


The sight tonight was a museum. Many relics inside were old and valuable, and the notably creepy anthropologist who owned the site told Ouma as such when he visited that afternoon. Whatever was being taken was anyone’s guess this time around. Nothing within was much more special than another, in terms of financial value. The only thing they had to work with was how well a person could go about stealing certain items in the first place. With that, Ouma had his sights on something specific.

There was a katana on display in the museum. Valuable and old for sure, and light. Ouma was sure that he himself could wield the weapon with little difficulty, even with his shorter stature and skinny arms. The only problem was with the gold leaf on the katana. Though he couldn’t touch it, the owner had informed him that the gold leaf on the weapon would flake easily, likely to smear on absolutely everything it touched. 

That was Ouma’s ticket to solving this case. He knew about the gold leaf, their future culprit did not.

As the evening turned to night, Ouma anticipated Shadow’s arrival with a smirk.  _ It was about to get good.  _

And Shadow did not disappoint.

At near exactly 2 am sharp, Ouma watched as a speedy figure slipped through the halls of the museum, fast and light in order to flee as fast as possible. All the things he’d read about the estimated features of Shadow were correct: average height, thin build. Gender was unknown, with the dubious nature of the little bit of filmed evidence they had. Either way, Ouma had the thief in his sights.

As the Trickster Detective  _ and  _ as Ouma Kokichi, it was a given that his methods for solving cases were pretty out of the box. At the moment, he was on top of the building itself, watching the scene unfold from a skylight leading into the room the katana was held. While the light didn’t hit the katana itself, it landed nearby enough to illuminate the golden weapon in a dull glow. The object wasn’t held within any glass case, so Ouma got a clear view as he watched the Shadow snatch it right off the stand.

Seeing that, Ouma thought it was about time he dropped in.

In a stunning act of a literal pun, Ouma opened the skylight and fell inside at just the right moment to land on top of the thief.

Both of them ended up on the floor, Ouma straddling the Shadow’s back. As quickly as possible, Ouma grabbed for both of the criminal’s wrists, but they managed the slip out from underneath him too fast for him to manage. Quickly, their positions switched to the detective on the floor, Shadow standing over him, katana pointed defensively between Ouma’s eyes.

Ouma took the time to observe the criminal and was shocked.

Being so close to them, it was clear that the Shadow was male, with the lack of a chest. His clothing was all black, which was expected, but his face was left completely exposed, except for the messy midnight blue hair that was obscuring it somewhat. He had a pale complexion, similar to Ouma’s own, and slim features. He had stupidly long lashes and champagne gold eyes. Said eyes were locked on him, shocked and paranoid.

Ouma had the thought, at that moment, that every gay does.

_ Oh no, he’s hot! _

Ouma was only able to panic for a moment more before Shadow came to his senses, and booked it out of the museum, leaving the detective to wallow with his thoughts. Most of which were panicky and some of which were already deducing. That encounter, while silent, was definitely going to finish this case off. Ouma stood up to leave then, only just then remembering that jumping from a skylight twenty feet from the ground isn’t the best decision when you have little to no athletic ability.

When the police finally arrived to see the missing katana and Ouma standing outside, they were stumped by the unreadable smile on the detective’s face. Ouma, of course, greeted them with his usual enthusiasm, delivering quick and easy lies about how the night went. He was definitely keeping the encounter to himself, at least for now. There was more to do after all. However this case would play out, Ouma was going to win, he was sure of it.

He thinks of startled grey-gold eyes.

He thinks,  _ Shadow, you’ve got a big storm comin’.  
  
  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an idea so I had to write it out, no matter the quality  
> I hope all the people who enjoy this type of stuff like it, cause this was an e x p e r i e n c e. I've never written oumasai, so feedback would be nice uwu


	2. Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saihara's side of the story

Saihara liked to think that he prepared for any possible situation that could arise during a heist.

Now, standing above the purple-haired detective he’d been warned about, he could practically hear the calm voice of Harukawa saying,  _ you fucked up. _

He mentally responded with a blur of panicked thoughts. How this even happened was beyond him. He’d been running out of the room when something dropped directly on top of him. Of course, he got loose from it as quickly as possible, brandishing the terribly old weapon to see the infamous Ouma Kokichi. 

His immediate reaction was to flee. Even with the katana, he was a  _ criminal _ , not a fighter. Saihara had rushed out, relying more on his muscle memory of past getaways rather than any actual thought about where he was going. That part of his brain was completely focused on analysis to distract from rising panic.

He’d disabled any cameras for his route here, and he’d barely wasted any time, even with the interruption. Ouma had seen his face, which was absolutely the worst thing that could happen, but hopefully,  _ hopefully _ , the detective hadn’t gotten a good enough look to remember what he looked like. Either way, it was horrifying. Through the many, many thefts Saihara had pulled, his confidence -  _ at least in robbery,  _ he thought sourly - had grown enough to where he’d let his guard slip a bit. He only ever struck at night, and made sure that near all security measures were unusable before striking. That had led to the lack of any facial covering and the catastrophe of his identity being known.

Well, not by much. That tiny, grainy video that the police had scrounged up from when he stole from Ludenberg let them know he existed, but not much more. That was a tiny relief, but not much. They were on to him, and tonight made sure his fate was set in stone. He might as well accept that his life was ruined now, rather than when they arrested him.

As he ran, the weight of the katana he had hastily slung around his back seemed to grow heavier in reminder. Saihara sighed.

Might as well finish the deal before going home. 

-

Before Saihara could wallow in his misery anymore, he’d made his way to the alley behind his apartment. Climbing up to his tiny balcony was a cinch, and he opened the sliding door he left unlocked to enter. 

He walked into the small space, seeing his roommate sitting on the sofa, a bowl of rice in her hand. He waved at her, and she glared back.

“Your back,” said Harukawa. She glanced at the katana he was still holding. “And you managed to get the money.”

“Uh, yeah.” He walked into his bedroom, quickly switching out of the black clothes he was wearing into a more comfortable grey hoodie. He grabbed a backpack, shoving the money inside, covering the inside with gold flakes in the process. “I’m going to see Momota.”

When Saihara came back to the living room, Harukawa’s glare had softened somewhat, more worried than stern. “Alright.”

-

The journey to the hospital was much calmer than the one home. This one he had memorized over time, rather than forced himself to remember short term. The thought was painfully sad, so Saihara focused more on navigating instead.

The building itself wasn’t too special, and the secretary inside was likely used to his frequent visit. Like always, she nodded sympathetically as he passed by, making his way to the second floor.

The door to the room was unassuming as well. Saihara pushed his way in.

The sun rising was always beautiful, but he couldn’t really bring himself to notice too much. Saihara sat near the bed, watching the steady rise and fall of Momota’s chest. The man himself was asleep, heart monitor beeping absently beside him along with the other machines around the bed. The steadiness of his breath brough Saihara slight comfort, mostly overshadowed by the fact that something so small was relieving. Being here like this was something unexpected, but it had to be this way.

Momota. The guy was a beam of positivity, reckless but caring. He’d tackled his way straight into Saihara’s life, and stayed there to help him up. Harukawa had gotten added to the mix, and then it was the three of them. Harukawa and Saihara the sidekicks, Momota the strong, perfect, untouchable hero.

That changed when the astronaut started coughing blood. The hacking and choking on his breath was so bad that now he was here, farther from the image of heroism than he had ever been.

It had been a couple of months, and Momota hadn’t shown much sign of getting better. But extended stay at the hospital wasn’t the type of thing that three half broke twenty-somethings could afford. Not how they were at the time. Both Momota and himself had refused to let Harukawa go back to her old life to pay for it.

So Saihara did it. Momota didn’t know. Harukawa did, and was furious, but accepted it eventually. There were other ways, but Saihara was far too deep now. He had made a name for himself, no matter how accidental that was.

He didn’t know what would happen with this if he didn’t have to do it anymore. Most likely his morals would force him to come clean, have him spend the rest of his life locked up. But it was worth it. If his closest friend could live free of the hospital, and free of the blood in his lungs, then it was all worth it.

But of course, he’d ruined that all today, hadn’t he? If he was caught now, Momota wasn’t going to be able to get better. Harukawa might have to resort back on her old job. That couldn’t happen.

As Saihara saw it, his only option was negotiation. To not get caught, he had to convince Ouma not to rat him out. To lie on his behalf. That meant another meeting. Another heist.

As Saihara sat in the hospital room, beside Momota, he watched the sunrise.

As Saihara sat in the hospital room, he thought,  _ Ouma, I hope your silver tongue is as great as you make it out to be.  
  
  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have too many concrete ideas for this AU, and then this struck me out of nowhere lolol  
> most of my knowledge for this type of stuff comes exclusively from reading other people's aus oop
> 
> I don't know if this is going to turn into a huge thing, most likely not. Most of the time I try to write bigger stories I run out of steam really quick. I don't want this to happen for this fic, so this is likely going to come out slowly, if it goes past this. I want to have fun writing and for you guys to have fun reading, so not forcing it will probably help my unpredictable schedule. Either way, I hope you like it and have a good day :)


	3. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again.

Ouma felt excited for the first time in what felt like years.

Not that anyone besides himself would really be able to tell. He had the best poker face of all, and regularly replaced it with loud tears and twisted smiles. Genuine happiness and intrigue was rare, even for the cases that he took on. Most of them were murders, committed at night, with some of the most elaborate cover ups that the office had seen.

All of them were the same to Ouma. As a liar, it was laughably easy to catch dishonesty from suspects. It was always something; an alibi, a weapon, a testimony. All of the cases blended together, with their simple solutions past the slog of proving it to others who weren’t as adept in the craft of deceit. 

As Ouma Kokichi, it was just straight up boring. Simple as that.

Now that he’d found something that kept his interest, there was no way in hell he was letting it go.

…

There were of course more items stolen past that katana. Apparently, Shadow wasn’t so discouraged at being seen as to actually stop their crimes. With no other leads, the office followed behind each new location, always there, but never actually catching the perpetrator. It was much funnier than usual to watch, seeing as Ouma had managed to get face to face with the man himself in a single night.  _ It just goes to show how brainless the police force is, huh. _

During that time period, Ouma got to work planning. He knew that solving this case immediately like he knew he definitely would cause his reputation to skyrocket past where it already sat high. That wasn’t what he wanted, however; popularity was minuscule in the face of what else he could get out of this by taking it slow.

_ Enjoyment. Satisfaction.  _ All those things that regular cases lacked. For other people, it would seem completely ludicrous to prioritize something line  _ fun  _ over justice. But other people were not Ouma Kokichi. So, Ouma made sure to make their next meeting as entertaining as possible.

From the look of things about a month after the katana, Shadow was doing the same.

The items that Ouma’s thief had stolen in that time that the detective was planning weren’t as important as the earrings. What they were was eye-catching; enough to keep the police on his case, and for him to be at the center of attention. It was endearing to see that Shadow was trying to stay in Ouma’s sights, honestly.

This location was once again grand. This time was an art gallery, or so their tip off said. It was the night before a large showing. Why people continued to have very valuable items displayed in places that Shadow had shown he could get into was beyond Ouma, but worked in his favor. It was easy to use his weighty reputation to scan the place again during the day, and talk to another owner.

The most likely target this time was a painting of flowers, made by the well known Yonaga Angie. Definitely valuable, with the name of the painter, along with how detailed it was. Despite both those facts, the painting was pretty plain with its basic choice of premise, but stood out with the choice of plant.

Snapdragons. Meaning graciousness and deception.

It seems like Shadow had done some digging as well. It probably could have made Ouma blush at the flattery, if he hadn’t been so good at hiding his emotions.

Now, all he had to do was wait, and let Shadow do his part.

-

  
  


That night went how no one really expected.

It was a completely perfect crime.

That night, the art gallery was peaceful. Not a single sound heard, or thief seen. Shadow hadn’t even said a word, and yet managed to take that painting under the noses of absolutely everyone who showed up at the gallery that night. Including Kirigiri Kyoko, who had been watching from the sidelines. How truly skilled Shadow was was definitely made apparent that night. It also made people curious.  _ If Shadow could’ve made all his heists as untraceable as this, why didn’t he? _

Despite the exhausted and irritated expression plastered on Ouma’s face as he listened to an officer's furious mumbling, he was grinning miles wide on the inside.  _ So, I was right. _

Unlike the force, who were now left with no clue where Shadow actually was as they trudged away from the fake location, Ouma languidly walked his way to the nearby statue garden.

He easily climbed over the front gate, making his way around the stone figures. The place was very pretty, full of flowers and beautifully sculpted statues, but the night sky made it significantly eerier. The horror movie vibe was unanticipated, but welcome as Ouma skipped his way to a certain statue.

It was a scene of a birdbath, stone sparrows clutched onto the edges of the bowl. Rather unassuming and boring, by any standards. The reason Ouma had gone to it was that it was surrounded by snapdragons. That made it a lot more noticeable, in Ouma’s opinion.

The fact that Shadow was there, sitting listlessly behind the display made it pretty noticeable too.

  
  


This time, Shadow looked less surprised to see the detective, but startled nonetheless. The thief had been hiding behind a rather large protrusion of hedge bushes, all planted in a circle that obscured the man and the painting he’d stolen. Ouma had only found him in there because of how good of a hiding spot it looked from the outside.

Shadow didn’t look like he’d take the initiative, so Ouma spoke first.

“Hey,what’re you doing back  _ here? _ I thought hosts were supposed to greet guests first!” A playful personality was definitely the way to go, as Shadow sputtered indignantly.

“W-well, it’s n-not like I can just stand in the open!” Shadow stuttered hotly. “Plus, I thought that you’d figure it out. . .”

Ouma smiled. “And I did! Kudos to me. But on a more serious note,” The grin dropped into a curious frown. “What’s a super-bad criminal leading me to secluded locations for?” Exaggerated and cartoony fear. “Y-y-your not p-planning on k-k-k- _ killing _ me or s-something, are you?!?”

Shadow already looked overwhelmed. “W-what? That’s not it at all! I just wanted to talk,” A nervous clearing of the throat. “Mostly about when I saw you last.”

So he was already moving on to the main event. Ouma could appreciate his straightforwardness, at least. “To talk, huh. You realize that I, a detective, can see your face right now? I could go back to my officer buddies and have them sketch your face lickety-split.”

How Shadow managed to look both unsure and confident at the same time was weird. “I-I’m pretty sure you won’t do that.”

“Yeah? Why?

“Because you’ve had plenty of chances,” he said. “From the night you actually saw me to now. At any point within that period of time you could’ve blown my cover. But you didn’t.”

That’s good, that his smarts go towards more than illegal shit. “Your right that I didn’t do it,” This time, Ouma went for a more sinister grin, to try and break down that confidence. “But what’s stopping me from doing it now?”

It didn’t seem to work that much, as that determined expression stayed. “Nothing at the moment, but I intend to change that.”

“Woah, really,” Inside, Ouma was ecstatic. On the outside, Ouma absently picked at his nails. “How do you intend on doing that?”

“With a deal.”

Well _t_ _ hat  _ was certainly intriguing. Ouma made his face blank to hide his curiosity. “. . . What’s in this supposed deal?”

The hesitance in Shadow’s eyes hovered before dissipating. “In exchange for you not turning me in, I’ll make sure that my heists are entertaining.”

_Woah woah woah_. That was  _ way  _ too close to Ouma’s genuine wants. The detective bobbed on his heels, expression unreadable. “And why would I want  _ that. _ ”

“Because,” Shadow looked at ease for once, at least a little. Ouma wished that he felt that way. “You’re Ouma Kokichi. The detective known for picking cases based on how fun they are.” Those words were significantly less stilted than his previous conversation. “If I have to make sure that you're enjoying heists to stay out of the police’s sights, so be it.”

A hand covered in a black glove moved from where it was holding the snapdragons painting to hover between the two, waiting.

Ouma wouldn’t be fooling anyone if he said he didn’t want to take it.

So he did. 

  
Shadow smiled at him, and somehow it felt trustworthy.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how to write Ouma's dialogue at ALL sdefvgbrfds 
> 
> Anyway, I have a lot of ideas for this so this is more of a prologue of a prologue of what's going to happen. It feels like I'm taking eons to get to the point but I'm kinda savoring this part because I wanna get used to writing the universe before hopping onto the plot
> 
> I'm definitely not gonna be able to keep posting like this, idk how I did it in the first place honestly. It means a lot that you guys like it, so I'll try to keep on working on this, even if it takes longer than it has to push chapters out. See you next time!


	4. Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple look around heeds more than just information.

  
  


The buzz from that night stuck with Saihara for  _ days. _

It was all that he could think about for a while, and so nearly half of a week went by without him thinking at all about where he’d strike next. Life seemed to move in a blur as he analyzed every moment of that short interaction, picked apart every single syllable of the words spoken.

Eventually, those more logical thoughts soured into intrusive and anxious ones, which led to him halfway laying on his ratty sofa while Harukawa kicked at his leg and read a book at least three days later. Saihara sighed, hands covering his face so that he didn’t have to see it when Harukawa glared at him again.

“Stop pouting.,” Harukawa said, not for the first time. “It went well, I don’t know why you're sulking.”

Saihara responded intelligently with a muffled and anxious grumble. He could see Harukawa’s eyes fill with irritation at that. “Did you hear me? He  _ agreed _ .” 

Saihara clumsily lifted himself to sit up against the opposite armrest to the former assassin, hands still over his face. “Yeah, but this could backfire so  _ easily.  _ He's a liar, Maki. He could’ve been lying when he agreed, and maybe he’s already telling them what I look like, cause I screwed it up-”

“Oh my god, if you don’t stop I’m chucking you out the window.”

“Please don’t.”

She was quiet for a moment, contemplative. “. . . look, I definitely think that Ouma is a fucking nuisance with his attitude. But he probably wasn’t lying.” the former assassin fiddled with her hair a bit. “I trust your logic much more than his word. If you thought he was truthful when he made the deal, then he was.” 

Though Saihara wanted to argue that no, his reasoning wasn’t that foolproof, he stayed silent. Instead, he sent his roommate an appreciative grin and stood up. “Thanks for saying so, Maki.”

She sent him one of her rare smiles in return, before shoving her nose back into her book and expressly ignoring him. Saihara chuckled a bit, and went for the door.

“I’m going to go out and clear my head.”

Harukawa sniffed in acknowledgment, and Saihara headed out.

-

Saihara felt like the world was laughing at his expense.

While he was out, he had decided to venture to the nearby bookstore. The place was quaint, but almost overflowing full of literature of a diverse variety. While Saihara personally was fond of mysteries, he found himself browsing through the crowded shelves often, if only because of the sheer amount of books packed into the rather small building.

He’d been there for a good minute, flicking through some of the more horror-based mysteries when a cheery and dreadingly familiar voice met his ears from over the top of the shelf.

“Sooo, Miss Bookworm, what’re some of the more exciting books you got in here? Anything super interesting?”

The reply from the stuttering shopkeeper wasn’t clear, but Saihara 

would recognize the tone and voice of the former perfectly.

Why would Ouma be here? The only times that Saihara knows that the detective goes to places like this is to look for places where he himself will steal from. But Saihara hadn’t even started  _ thinking  _ about stealing yet, let alone chosen a location. Maybe there was some other reason, but Saihara couldn’t think of one.

That didn’t really matter so much in the moment. What he should be doing is getting out of the way, and trying to figure this out by listening in. Quietly, Saihara got as far from Ouma’s immediate line of sight and hearing as he could manage in the maze-like shelves. From where he had moved, the detective was standing with Fukawa Toko, one of the co-owners of the bookstore. Straining his ears, Saihara tried to pick up on Fukawa’s replies.

“. . . c-classics are r-relatively the more valuable b-books in here, e-even though no one r-really b-b-buys them a-anymore. Those are i-in the back, n-near. . .”

Saihara missed out on the rest of the woman’s answer, as it turned into more of a mumble, but he followed silently behind Ouma after the detective gave her a bubbly wave goodbye and started skipping to the less frequented part of the building.

This part of the place was much dustier than any other section, each book looking like it hadn’t been picked up in months. The likely reason was exactly as Fukawa said: that people just weren’t interested enough to try and look for such old books. These shelves were just as oddly placed around each other as any other part of the store, so staying hidden from Ouma’s attention was easy. It was on a slightly lower level than the rest of the first floor, meaning there were few windows, and most were very bad at letting in light. Of course, the dirty lightbulbs in the ceiling made up for it. The effect was creepy, and along with the mostly blank covers and isles empty of people, it screamed suspicious.

That suspicion landed Saihara more as a place for murder rather than theft, but there was still reason to believe that at least one of these books had enough value to be stolen. That definitely made Ouma’s being here more clear. The detective must’ve been looking for possible locations ahead of time, then. 

Saihara followed along with Ouma, led by the other’s steps through the rows. At one point, Saihara even found a place to stand on top of the shelves, and get a better view of Ouma’s location. He silently thanked the ever confusing layout and continued to shadow the detective.

A small part of his head said that this was a  _ lot  _ like stalking, and Saihara had to stop for a moment to prevent the following embarrassment from throwing him off enough to fall down.

Luckily, Ouma had stopped in that same moment, eyes locked on a specific place where two shelves met, fiddling with something. Saihara tried to get a better angle and see what exactly it was that Ouma was looking at, but couldn’t manage it from his position.

What he could manage to do, however, was spot the shot put ball rolling down the books stacked on the shelf across from the one he was on, headed on a steady path to fall directly on top of the detective’s head.

That was definitely a cause for panic.

Saihara looked back at Ouma, who was still doing whatever he was doing right in the shot put’s path. He hadn’t noticed the danger yet, thanks to the height of the shelves, and how quiet the rolling of the ball was. The books the ball was rolling on were open, muffling the sound more than it would if the books were closed. Saihara estimated he had about ten seconds to do something.

At first, he hesitated to get involved, as it would definitely show that he’d been shadowing Ouma. That thought was shut down by the fact that Ouma was going to  _ die  _ if he stayed put.

So, in his rush, Saihara ended up pushing himself off the shelf and tackling Ouma out of the way, both of them landing at the same time the shot fell on the floor with a heavy  _ thunk _ .

Of course, Ouma sputtered from where Saihara had landed on top of him, squirming out from underneath. Saihara also sat up, leaning up against a nearby shelf. Looking at Ouma’s face, it was ghost white, eyes wide and focused in that specific corner.

Saihara turned as well, and saw that the shot had landed exactly where the detective had been standing before. That was definitely a cause for concern.

Though the camera lodged into the bookshelf and the dead body underneath, head caved in from a separate bloody shot put was also a likely candidate.

So that’s what Ouma was looking at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is where the story really starts to pick up  
> If you thought this was going to be a lighthearted story, I'm sorry to let you down oops
> 
> I wanted to at least get this chapter out before I have to go to school again. That'll probably slow down the frequency of chapters, unless I get deadset on proving myself wrong. Either way, enjoy the new mystery!


	5. Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look at what's going on.

  
  
  
  


Ouma’s brain seemed to have abandoned him to this situation. Luckily, his reservoir of lies was a nice cushion to lean on when he was left no other choice.

He stared at the body and shot puts for a moment, along with looking at where Shadow had fallen. Ignoring the shock of the rudeness of  _ everything _ , he pasted a smile on his face. “Well, look at the handsome man that dropped from heaven to see me!”

Said “handsome man” stuttered, but embarrassment was quickly forgotten when the taller glanced back at the body. He didn’t respond for a moment. Then, “What happened here?”

“Gee, I dunno!” He pointed at the scene. “Dead body, bloody shot put, shady and dark area, camera. . .” Ouma put on the most cheerful facade he could manage while still trying to get his deductive reasoning working. “This almost kinda looks like a murder! But I’m not sure, or anything.”

Shadow looked put off by that, which caused a small bit of Ouma to smile in satisfaction, but he buried it in favor of contemplative silence. He wanted as Shadow considered the scene for himself, nervous sweat beading on his neck.

Now that he was paying attention, the other was wearing casual clothes, versus the indistinguishable black layered that he did while out during heists. A loose hoodie and sweatpants was what he was wearing. In the process of tackling Ouma to the ground, a small bit of the criminal’s collarbone was visible. In the lighting, his eyelashes cast small shadows against his cheeks. Ouma had almost forgotten how hopelessly attractive that the man was. Maybe it was the shitshow that was the slumped figure against the wall, covered in blood. That’s pretty distracting.

Ouma’s staring was interrupted by Shadow saying “This was automated.”

“What?” The detective hated how stupid he sounded at that moment, but his logic was thrown by the suddeness of the statement. “Why do you think so, Mr. Edgelord?” 

“E-edgelo-?” The other shook his head. “I mean, think about it.” Hesitantly, Shadow touched a finger to a splash of blood. “The blood is dry, so I don’t know when this person died, but. . .” The other’s gaze shifted to the two shot put balls, rolled a bit away. “. . . The ball that almost hit you fell from the same place that the one that killed this guy probably came from.”

“Yeah, because he’s all slumped over right underneath where it fell from.” No need to make it a question. Ouma felt a bit of appreciation at Shadow’s deduction ability, along with slight jealousy. He was the detective, dammit. Even if he thought the job was boring as bricks. “Maybe the culprit rigged some type of murder machine!”

“Maybe? This is your field of expertise, not mine. . .”

Any response that Ouma could have come up with was interrupted by a sudden flash of light that came from directly above the body. Shadow was luckily not looking directly at the place the light came from, but Ouma wasn’t so lucky. Wincing at the brief blindness it gave him, he moved towards the source instead of away, like his now aching eyes wanted him to. 

The reason behind it was a camera stuffed in one of the shelves, duct tape fastening it to the back of said shelf. With an unreasonably high amount of effort - possibly because of his pathetic excuse for muscles - Ouma pried the device out, turning so that the other, now standing closer than before, could see what it was.

“A camera,” He says. Ouma wants to scold him for the obviousness of that statement but stays quiet. “It looks cheap, and there’s not much you can do with it. . .” Shadow motioned to the singular button on it. “Someone could probably buy this at any corner store.”

“Yep, sure looks like it,” Ouma nodded along. “I probably have thousands of these at home.”

“So. . ?” The other looked lost as to where Ouma was going.

“ _ So, _ that means that absolutely anyone in possession of at least ten-” The detective glanced at the camera. “ _ Two  _ dollars could get one of these. If we were gonna use this to identify our culprit, then we should look at all the pathetically poor people.” a pause. “Who also has access to whatever is needed for a murder machine.”

Shadow put an embarrassed hand in front of his face. “Okay, okay, so we can’t use that to figure it out.”

“Spot on, Emo boy!” Ouma placed the camera back where it was as he said that. Unfortunately, the nickname was ignored in the face of the thief picking up the clean shot put ball.

“How would you even get one of these up to the top of a shelf?” Shadow scanned the top of the one the ball came from. “Let alone enough to try and kill more than one person.”

“I dunno, maybe mr. - or miss! or mrs.! - murderer is super strong and can just throw them up there!”

“No, because they’re balls. They’d roll off if no one was up there to make sure they didn’t,” The other gave up looking at the shelf. “I can’t see anything from down here, and it’s ridiculously dark in here.”

“I know, right? While I was walkin’ over here, I felt like the last girl in every horror movie,” Ouma skipped around the small, almost alcove of a corner. “Like some stupid clown or furry would jump out and stab me!”

“Don’t you mean werewolf?”

“I’m so glad that my knight in shining armor was here to body slam me to safety,” The detective went to flip aimlessly through some of the books. He felt Shadow’s confused eyes on his back. “I would’ve gone to the eternal slumber party that rotten avocado over there is hanging out at.”

The eyes on his back moved away. Still looking at the books, Ouma heard the criminal start to slowly walk away. “Yeah, um, sorry about that. I panicked so. . .” an awkward clearing of the throat. “I should probably get going. I wasn’t planning on staying out so long. And you're the detective so, this is more your job than mine, so. . . goodbye.”

The footsteps of Shadow grew quicker and fainter as distance grew between the two. Ouma continued to absently throw around books until he was sure the other was gone. Slowly, Ouma put the books in his hands back in some random empty spaces and slowly turned to look at the body again.

Earlier, the both of them were expressly using each other as distractions from thinking about how horrifying the sight really was. The blood was much more spread out than it looked at first glance, many smaller splatters on the shelf where the now deceased person was leaning on. Blood covered the obviously used Shot put, and a streak of dark pink showed the exact path of the weapon. 

Said person was slumped over, like they were sitting down and went limp while in said position. The way there was a book laying on their still hand showed how true that statement was. Their head hung forward, an ugly dent where the impact was, bits of bone visible through hair and blood. The ball must’ve hit them a bit off-center, which caused the ball to roll away. Ouma stared at it all, face more of a somber type of emotionless rather than the forced blank he pulled on occasion.

“. . . So, this is how it ends for you,” Saying how he truly felt was odd, but he pushed on. “And you were so cocky about being able to stay alive, too.”

Silence.

“At least most of your sisters are safe.”

No response. The voice of the other people in the bookstore felt farther away than reality.

Ouma reached into his pocket, pulling out a spare of the signature checkered bandana around his neck. Placing it over his hand, he got close enough to gently lift the person's head and close their eyes. Touching the body directly would implicate him, and that wasn’t what he wanted. 

Ouma stood back up, putting the scarf back. He walked away, saying quietly “I hope that whoever killed you had a good reason for it, Amami.”

Thoughts of the newest crime scene rolled around in the detective’s head for a while. From what he’d seen, there was nothing that he had done to accidentally put the blame on himself. His deciding to be at the bookstore that day would be suspicious, but his reputation for doing so repeatedly with other cases would push that to the wayside. 

Of course, there’s the complication of Shadow.

Oh fuck, Shadow.

This just had to happen when things were getting exciting. Since Shadow had been increasing the severity of his crimes - why he did so was something Ouma definitely wanted to ask - recently, so there was going to be at least some talk of him as the culprit. The future contemplations of whether the criminal was caught and did the extreme to have no witnesses were already whispering in the back of his head. 

That certainly wouldn’t do. His newest object of interest could  _ not  _ be caught so quickly, especially by something that he - probably - didn’t do. If this new game of theirs were to continue, then this threat of it ending had to get taken care of. How exactly he could prove it wasn’t Shadow without saying that he was there to see that the thief’s surprised reaction was genuine would be a bit of a challenge. But hell, he was looking for something to do lately anyway. This was just a little extra.

It wasn’t really something he wanted, though. 

Well, whatever. He was a detective, and Ouma Kokichi. There was no way in hell this was going to slip past him.

Those thoughts of confidence followed him all the way home.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it was Amami, idk why I dragged out saying it was him. Maybe because I've always wanted to do a reveal like that, I dunno
> 
> The first half of this chapter I wrote without glasses on, and I didn't reread it, so idk how it looks really lol. On another note, I have the next few points in the story figured out better than these first few, so hopefully I can get to those soon. Also no, this story is not gonna follow canon. It uses elements of canon - which is why I tagged it spoilers now - but not the plot. The plot I just kinda write as I go, to try and make it more exciting.


	6. Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saihara goes to visit Momota.

  
  
  
  
  


Saihara thought it was about time to visit Momota again.

Normally he’d visit every few days. Even with his frequent crimes and occasional days with Harukawa, he always managed to find time. 

For most of those visits, Momota was asleep. The man himself would never admit to it, but both Saihara and Harukawa knew how much it hurt for him to keep up his loud and cheerful personality with his lungs so torn up. So they either kept each other company quietly, or completely silently, or they sat while Momota slept, him escaping his illness in his sleep and them escaping it by staring at the window just to the left of the bed.

Though it was something that Saihara never wanted to grow used to, the quiet beeps of the machine and the monotone whites of the room along with his friend’s presence brought him comfort sometimes. Occasionally he’d sneak in after-hours - his morals protested it, but he’d go to jail eventually either way - just after finishing some of the more stressful thefts and just sit, beating back the paranoia that always clawed at the back of his head with the help of Momota’s lax hand held in his own tight grip.

While Saihara definitely hadn’t stolen recently, it was definitely due time he visited, both for Momota and himself.

Seeing the room lit up with late afternoon rays was different than how it looked at sunrise, but it was welcome all the same. It was the day after the run-in at the library, and the thoughts about it had crowded Saihara’s head so badly that he couldn’t wait for it to be night.

Momota was awake, and turned to him when he entered. A grin appeared on his face as he waved. “Hey, sidekick!”

Saihara nodded a greeting back and sat next to him, admiring the orange glow the lighting gave the room instead of the typical sterile white. “Ah, hey, Momota.” 

For some reason, Saihara found himself stuck. Thoughts were swirling up in his head, begging to be let out so that they didn’t overwhelm him, but not a single one made it past the back of his throat. Momota didn’t speak either, waiting for him to find the words.

Conversations were always difficult to carry out for him. Words never really came naturally, so his small talk was always a bit stuttery or stilted. Of course, Momota was completely fine with that, and just let the silence between them stir. That patience was so welcome, especially coming from someone as talkative as the self asserted Luminary beside him.

“Uhm.” Great start. “How are you feeling?” What a question for someone stuck in a hospital, Saihara.

Momota didn’t seem offended at all. “Pretty good! I’ve been awake for the past couple of hours, but it’s boring as bricks.” His smile grew wider. “You actually visited at the perfect time, Shuuichi!”

“Why’s that?” 

“Because I wanna talk to you, of course!” Momota’s voice wasn’t all that loud anymore, but the energy infused into it was more than enough. Saihara’s spirits were already lifting. “Wanted to hear ‘bout how my sidekick is doing.”

“O-oh, I’m doing fine,” It came out a bit rushed. Momota seemed to pick up on it, based on how his brows furrowed for a moment. Saihara went to fix the mistake. “I went to the bookstore the other day. Maki’s found this book she’s really interested in, too.”

The other’s forehead smoothed out, and Saihara internally sighed in relief. “Good for you guys! Have you been keeping up with training?”

“Of course.” Thoughts of late-night escapades and Harukawa’s neutral expressions at sunrise. Saihara tried for a more genuine smile. “We wouldn’t stop for any reason.”

Momota wouldn’t know if he was lying. Over time, Saihara had been doing it so much about so many things that it felt like deceit rolled off his tongue with the same effort of breathing. Nowhere near the grandeur or frequency of Ouma, but still enough. About where he’d been, about what he’d been doing, about if he was hurt. Little fibs here and there that we’re hard to spot. 

Momota wouldn’t know if he was lying, but he would know if he felt weak. The furrowed brows were back, this time with a tiny frown. “. . . you sure you’re doing okay?”

No, he wasn’t. Because this had gone off the rails. Instead of small crimes, just enough to scrape by, Saihara had to go for those stupid earrings. It sounded like a great idea; something so expensive that it would last them for a few weeks. Of course it would backfire, and the media would explode about it. Of course fucking  _ Ouma Kokichi _ would hear about it. Of course he was now obligated to do things for the detective’s entertainment just to keep himself and his friends alive and well.

“Not really.”

“Well don’t just say  _ that _ , you gotta tell me about it!” Momota gave him a reassuring thumbs-up. “Your problems aren’t gonna get solved if you just bottle ‘em up.”

“Yeah. . .” For a moment, he hesitated. Saihara couldn’t just go and spill about everything. Momota wasn’t supposed to know about what Saihara had chosen to do. But he had to get it off his chest somehow, and Momota was looking at him expectantly. So, he went with the closest story of events that he could.

“Well, it’s just that. . .” He fidgeted with his hands. “I guess that you could say I made a mistake. Then the one person who I didn’t want to find out about it did. Um, and I didn’t want anyone else to know, so I let him kind of blackmail me. Now it’s overwhelming because I could do what this guy wants and he could still tell others about it anyway. I can’t dictate what he does, so. . .” He shrugged, not meeting Momota’s eyes. “I’m stuck.”

Silence for a moment, and then. “Huh. Whoever did that to you must be an asshole.”

Saihara sputtered, but couldn’t find himself to totally disagree. Ouma  _ was  _ a bit troublesome to deal with, if any of the rumors that circulated around the man was true. Hand in hand with Saihara’s own personal experience, it didn’t paint the detective in the best light. “I guess you're not wrong. . .”

“Well then that’s just it!” The taller man looked for all the world like he’d solved all the world’s problems. “He’s an asshole. Assholes always get hit with karma the hardest, ‘cause they do all the shit to deserve it.” Momota raised a fist. “An’ if karma doesn’t put them back in their place, punching them will probably help.”

That solution was so simplistic, and so much like his best friend. Saihara couldn’t help but laugh. He waved a hand when Momota squawked indignantly, saying “O-oh no, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that that sounds so,” He gestured empathically, still giggling a bit. “ _ You. _ ”

“Exactly. I’m the Luminary of the Stars, so of course I can help solve my sidekick’s problems!” Momota went right back to his usual bravado, and everything felt just like it used to. The rest of that visit they sat in comfortable silence, watching stars slowly pop up in the evening sky, Momota naming constellations as they appeared.

Saihara left with his friends’ enthusiastic words in his ears, and newfound confidence in his heart. Days like this were ones that he wanted to last forever. He wanted Momota to get better, so that they could waste the night away stargazing, along with Harukawa. Her quiet happiness warming her red eyes, a smile on her face instead of the thin line of a mouth she had when he entered from the balcony again. He wanted the best for her, too.

Even with Ouma’s power over his decisions, and the body, and just the stress of juggling this weird double life, he felt reassured.  _ Assholes always get hit with karma the hardest. _ Not how Saihara himself would have phrased it, but there had to be some truth to it. Ouma wouldn’t have the upper hand forever, especially with his position as a detective. That new murder would surely take up some of his time. With Ouma’s choice to go to the sight of the murder alone, it would also paint him as suspicious. 

No one really knew that Saihara was there, too. If Ouma didn’t spill - which he wouldn’t, that would just make Ouma  _ more  _ suspicious - then this could turn into Saihara’s own opportunity for blackmail. 

They had messed with the crime scene, technically. He distinctly remembered seeing Ouma rip the camera out from its spot in duct tape. He had sort of retaped it, but anyone was sure to notice that it was ripped, and if Saihara went and said something about how odd it was that the tape was ripped and Ouma was the first at the crime scene. . .

. . . Ouma’s threat would become hollow, would it? 

Well, that means another meet up. But this time, Saihara was on the high ground.   
  
  
Saihara wasn't one to want power, but thinking about being able to pull some strings did make a small part of him roll in satisfaction.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this scene was supposed to be HALF the length it is but it's the size of a full chapter so I'm posting it separately as the entirety of chapter 6
> 
> I'm writing this less to be a phantom thief au or a ship fic, and more to just get used to writing relationships between characters and characterization. That might mean less action or hardcore romance, though, so if you wanted that I'm sorry that I might be slow to write stuff like that out. I love these types of aus either way, so this is also me trying to keep things entertaining. No one is really guaranteed going to get together, since I'm so new to fanfiction and this paring and stuff, but the future is full of unknowns. I'm not planning on giving up, though!
> 
> Please enjoy this unexpected chapter, peeps! :)


	7. Hide and Seek 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity kills the cat. It more lures the mouse out, but who knows for sure?

  


Ouma had been so caught up in his newest object of interest, he’d forgotten how agonizing being a detective actually was.

Normally, it would just be permanent boredom. Bland cases, predictable culprits, same drivel every day, no matter what. He gained mild entertainment from harassing the mechanical secretary at the front desk for his robotic-ness, but even the loud objections and complaints he got for it were expected.

Now, it was just the fact that this new murder was taking up so much of his time. His Shadow was still out there, thieving during nights with his newfound pattern of scary efficiency, and he was here, dragged onto riddling out this murder. Fortunately, the kill itself was unorthodox, taking place in a library and near fully automated, except for the initial need for the culprit to give the mechanism it’s weapon in the form of many, many shot put balls. That also meant less evidence, which only made the investigation  _ longer  _ in search of clues.

It wasn’t surprising that people wanted him on every new and extreme case to pop up, with his flawless record of correct deductions and - however grudgingly his teammates were to admit it - useful insight. But it was irritating as hell when all he wanted to do was sink his teeth back into that nervous but endearing criminal he’d had the fortune of blackmailing.

So, like he always did, he went ahead to the next location outside of detective-ing. This time, he went on the night of. He’d already excused himself out of his eccentric office that day, and flashing whatever it was that got people to listen to him at the officers already at the sight was enough to get him on the property. 

It was a museum again. Different from the one where Ouma had his first encounter, this time a sort of house. It was supposedly a replica of how a house was in a certain time period or another, Ouma didn’t really look into it much. It was puzzling though, as a thief who was projected to sell all the items they stole would have a hard time selling a one-of-a-kind piece of fine china from a place such as this. But then again, it would be easy to mask that sort of item among dozens of fakes, and still fetch a high price.

Maybe that’s why the rest of the force was having such a hard time catching Shadow. They just never looked into his motives and just hoped that they’d arrive in the right spot to catch him. It would explain a lot.

Either way, Ouma was wandering his way in the mansion esque estate, covered in unattractive floral wallpaper and creaky wooden floors. Rooms were near overflowing with antiques and heirlooms, from rugs to camera equipment to rows of porcelain dolls. Seeing as it was night and the age of the place allowed for barely any light, it was creepy as all hell. Perfect haunted house material, honestly.

Maybe Shadow had chosen this place purely because it’d scare people so shitless they wouldn’t try and go inside to catch him. It was a funny thought, so Ouma tossed it around in his head to distract from the way the eyes of the people in the portraits felt like they were burning into his back. To distract that he could be here for hours waiting for the crime to actually start. 

Refusing to admit to fear, Ouma instead pasted a bright smile on his face and skipped around to sit on the middle of the stairs, getting as clear of a shot at hearing around the entire place as he could get. It was unfortunate that that meant Ouma put his back towards the long-deceased daughter’s room - covered near head to toe in those dolls, some of which were dismembered like some cheap horror show - but you win some, you lose some.

  
  


-

It was at about 2 am that Ouma decided that he needed to move before staring at the same 6 photographed people on the staircase drove him insane. 

He’d been able to stand the waiting and creepiness for around 45 minutes before anticipation and what he finally would acknowledge as anxiety pushed him up from his slouched seat on the tenth stair out of eighteen and marched him up to the second floor. Vigorously ignoring the creaking floorboards and the dust hanging in the air like mist, he paced the twisting upstairs hallway, peering into every room he passed by. Unluckily, the hall was designed in an odd type of loop, meaning that he couldn’t see half the rooms at any given moment. Only hear the quiet rustling of nature from a few open windows and his own ridiculously loud and echoey footsteps. Despite that, Ouma still strained his ears for anything, hoping that there was something to distract from the gross amount of paranoia being in there gave him.

That was what caused Ouma to hear the soft thump of a person landing on carpet, around a corner he hadn’t reached yet.

He sped around the corner to see a figure flash around another, this time soundless. Ouma only saw them for a moment, but the glimpse of short midnight blue hair in the light of the window gave their identity away. Ouma almost sighed in relief before running after them again.  _ At least that agonizing wait wasn’t for nothing. _

When Ouma flew around the corner to see nothing this time, he stopped and actually thought about what he was doing. From the aimless rounds he’d done earlier, there was no way for him to catch up to Shadow just by running; another corner would pop up, and he’d lose any ground he’d cover during the straight shots. It didn’t help that Shadow was extremely good at running away, if how it took what was probably dozens of heists for him to ever be caught on camera. 

The halls were lined with bedrooms, each closed off from being able to walk inside to preserve their “pristine” state. Of course, neither Ouma or Shadow would be adhering to the law, as there were no witnesses - the officers stationed outside had already left - and they had no reservations on messing up a few things if it kept Ouma entertained and Shadow out of prison. The bedrooms were all cluttered, packed with outdated objects and relics. Many places to hide for the average person, a daunting amount to search for Ouma when the person hiding hid as a  _ job _ .

So that meant his best bet was just marco polo, at heart; find Shadow by making the thief make noise, and follow where said noise came from. He wasn’t blind, as the moon happened to be merciful on him and was bright enough to see by, but it wasn’t very advantageous when there were so many things casting shadows on other things. Oh well, better get started.

“Oh, Mr. Shadow~!” Ouma crowed, moving leisurely down the floor. Each footstep was clear on the worn hardwood. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

In the face of having to seek, Ouma feld the preemptive dread of the search, but smiled on and began, glancing into each room that he passed. Each time he held an ear out, waiting for a giveaway while his mouth rambled on about some other nonsense. “This was a really good place to pick for tonight. I mean, you prolly weren’t expecting me to show since I’m off hours, but I could  _ never  _ miss the opportunity to see you.”

The detective ambled around the next corner, emanating cockiness as if he hadn’t been pacing around the exact same spot in restlessness not ten minutes ago. “Plus, you kept your promise! With making all the heists interesting and all that. What better place than some creaky mansion with so many knock-off Chucky dolls that people wet themselves looking at the door?” Typical goading. Maybe poking fun at Shadow would embarrass him so bad he’d just give up to get Ouma to shut up? Certainly possible. 

“You're really bad at this, y-know.” He whined, peeking into doorways and hearing nothing. “I can hear you wheezing and stuff. Gosh, ever had someone tell you to breathe through your nose?”

A thump, about two doors down.

That certainly wasn’t what Ouma thought was what would get his object of interest to give in, but whatevs. It worked.

He skipped down to the source of the noise, peering around the doorway of the room it came from. This was some sort of nursery, stuffed animals and dolls and closets everywhere. An ancient cradle was pushed against the far wall, the window above it lighting the dusty blanket up like a holy grail. Stupidly cinematic, like everything else that seems to have been happening around Shadow.

There was an especially conspicuous mahogany wardrobe in the corner, so Ouma went to examine that first, hopping over the red rope that was supposed to keep him out to reach it. The floor was covered in a ratty old rug, with some indistinguishable pattern on it. Probably worth thousands, and Ouma casually marched over it to overzealously throw open the wardrobe doors. Empty, as expected. 

A quiet giggle sounded over Ouma’s shoulder, and he turned back around to see the rope blockade swinging, the blanket covering the rickety cradle settling back into place to also cover the space underneath the bottom, which just so happened to be a big enough space to fit a person.

Of course, Ouma had to be an oblivious idiot in the face of theatrics. 

So he ran back out, chirping something about hide and seek that he didn’t really pay too much attention to himself until it got a reply. In the form of the sound of quiet knocking, but a reply nonetheless.

The sound came from the left, so the detective quickly bounced back where he’d come from, before the sound of curtains from the _complete_ _opposite direction_ of the knocking. That noise had come so close in succession from the knocking that there was no way for anyone to have moved fast enough to make one sound and then the other.

What.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea that this would start getting wordy (for my standards), but here we are with increasingly long chapters
> 
> Once again, I am taking a lot of words to write out things that I thought would be shorter so now I'm splitting this part of the story in two oop. This was the best spot I could find to split the scene into separate parts, so this is the chapter I guess. I still gotta finish the second half, and I think it'll be out in a few days. My hope is to have a lopsided sort of weekly update schedule, as of right now. See you next time!


	8. Hide and Seek 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get exciting, but not necessarily in the best way.

  
  


The first thought that Ouma had was that maybe the overwhelming aura of haunted-ness the house gave off wasn’t just an aura. That was shot down quick, because first off, theoretically, ghosts can’t touch things, and therefore can’t make noise. The second reason being that ghosts don’t exist, doofus.

Before Ouma had time to process what was going on  _ logically _ , there was knocking again, but more insistent. He hadn’t moved at all from when he’d stopped in confusion, so the noise was just a few meters ahead. As if in return, the back of a framed photograph slid against wallpaper.

Silence for a moment, then an even weirder combination. The knocking didn’t gain volume, but became more patterned. Two short knocks, a long one, then a short one. Three long hits. A single tap, a long beat, two clipped hits after. That pattern again. Another three long knocks. Then a tap, taap, taap.

A short pause. If the two noises were caused by different people, the one with the curtain and photo didn’t hear anything.

Then just two long taps. A single short hit. Then nothing. 

Confusion at the entire situation and exhaustion had impaired Ouma’s thought process. It took a solid thirty seconds for the patterns to register in his head, and he made his way toward the knocking again.

Ouma was a detective, which was essentially solving real-life puzzles. Of course, puzzles can get bland when you do them over and over, so Ouma sometimes passed the time by going out of his way to learn random things. A topic that he had settled on a while ago happened to be ciphers. Different ways to code messages, from hieroglyphics to Base64. Not very useful in real life, but definitely coming in handy now.

One of the most common ciphers used is morse code. And it seems like the knocker knew it as well. The patterns initially pounded out were obviously random, but that series was easily recognizable. Quietly but clearly stating:

_ FOLLOW ME _

  
  


The curtain swished and the photo smacked against ugly floral wallpaper from behind, loud and demanding, but Ouma ignored it when he saw Shadow, crouched and small inside a small space in a white closet. The man’s eyes widened, before he gestured for Ouma to get inside as well. Ouma did so, and the criminal shut the door as quietly as possible.

The closet was cramped, but luckily empty. Most of the clothes in the room were inside a drawer across the room, or piled onto the small bed. Instead, there was a noticeable layer of dust that kicked up as soons as Ouma shoved his way inside his new companion. The space inside was small, as the interior was divided up like a locker; a shelf up top, a space for shoes at the bottom. Shadow was taking up the left side of the middle space inside, so Ouma took the right. 

When the door was closed, the area went from cramped to claustrophobic, dust circulating in the air like mist and light near completely gone. The only light came in from the small sliver of outside that could be seen in the crack of the door, that Shadow seemingly left on purpose, supposedly to see whoever it was that intruded on their own bizarre interaction. So, both of them waited in silence, not even looking at each other despite nearly sitting on top of each other from the relatively slim design of the closet. It was lucky both of them were more on the small side, Ouma with his shorter stature and the thief with a thin and lanky build.

It felt like forever that they sat in there. The only sound was the ominous creaking of the house itself, like the very fact it existed was reason for its foundation and walls to creak like they were moments away from collapse. Ouma could hear himself breathing, but not the other. Even in the horrendously dim light, Ouma could tell that the other’s chest was barely moving to take breaths. Probably another trait developed to hide better. Definitely something that would make the detective insecure for no reason. Either way, being sort of annoyed at the thief’s superior hide and seek ability wasn’t enough to make time go faster, nor enough to keep dread from raising the hairs at the back of his neck.

Because the both unfortunate and fortunate trait of the floors being loud as hell had given away that the intruder was coming closer. From the sound of it, plus the sight of a growing shadow through the door crack, they were headed directly for their hiding spot.

The steps quieted to near-silent thumps as the intruder casually meandered their way into the exact room both Ouma and Shadow were in, body language relaxed but still tense, as expected when someone knew they were committing a crime. Oddly enough, when the figure passed by the door crack, they looked as if they were carrying something. A sizable lump of  _ something  _ was over what looked to be their shoulder. Ouma didn’t get a clear view, but Shadow did. If the way that the others already frozen posture went close to downright stone, whatever that thing was definitely wasn’t good.

The mystery criminal whistled quietly, as they shuffled around the room, sounds of chafing ropes and fabrics making their way through the door crack. A very audible thump came from the center of the room, and the whistling kept on going. Neither Shadow or Ouma were moving, completely focused on trying to figure out what the hell was happening based on the odd noises the intruder was making. Quiet rustling fabric, and then a moment of quiet. Liquid pouring, a breath in that hadn’t come from the detective or Shadow, then. . .  
  
“Cultural melting pot. . .” an extremely quiet whisper, so much so that the voice it came from was unidentifiable. Eerily, Ouma could tell by the tone that the person was smiling. 

Then.

Then the sound of a match being lit.

“Executed.”

Just as the sound of a window opening filtered through the door, the unmistakable whoosh of an object being set ablaze took over Ouma’s senses, combined with increasing smoke. With no hesitation, Both the detective and thief threw the closet doors open, to see the lump that the intruder had left behind. It was very clearly a dead body, but the view was slightly obstructed by the pool of gasoline around it, which was also on fire.

In that moment, staring at the growing flame, Ouma had a realization. Several, actually. One was how amazingly orchestrated this night was. All of the events that coalesced into this moment were complete coincidence, first ignited by Shadow’s choice in location for a heist, the final spark lit by a match from who Ouma absently identified as Amami’s killer. The place itself was perfect, as well. For both Shadow and the new killer. For a thief, it was chock full of sellable items, each old and rare enough to fetch high value but not so rare as to be suspicious. Not only that, but this house was so overfilled with items that it would be nearly impossible to identify what was stolen if every item hadn’t previously been counted.

For the killer, it was perfect for the stunt they pulled. This house was old, which meant old building materials, no matter how much modern tech had refurbished it. Luckily for them, this place had remained untouched, as it was a relic of some long passed period of time. Said period of time was one before bricks and drywall were made common, which meant almost wooden everything. Wooden everything also means  _ flammable _ everything. 

So as that moment of realization passed, Ouma was not surprised when the blaze moved from the puddle of gas to the quilt and clothes on the bed, migrating to the bedframe and eventually the wall it was pushed up against. While that was not surprising, it did inspire the small droplet of dread he’d felt previously to swell into an ocean as the volume of the events occurring hit him.

The place was on fire. And if he didn’t get out soon, he’d be burned to the ground along with it.

Ever outmating Ouma, Shadow was quicker to realize that extremely important fact. So instead of standing and watching the room be engulfed in flames, the criminal latched on to Ouma’s arm and dragged him out, Running as fast as possible with the detective’s near dead weight. Ouma was eternally grateful for Shadow’s faster reaction time, and got his feet running underneath him in seconds. 

Out in the hallway it was calmer, but the horrible layout once again made everything harder. They were almost as far away from the singular staircase as a person could get, and the smoke of the fire was already piling up at the ceiling. Looking down the hall, the sight of orange flickers where the intruders’ banging came from gave away that there was  _ more than one  _ fire, which made the likeliness of escaping without dying just that much smaller.

So, without any other option, Ouma just sprinted for the stairs, head lower to avoid breathing in the increasing amount of smoke. Skidding to turn to the stairs, the detective practically dove down them, skipping nearly four at a time in a rush to get out. Footsteps of equal panic were behind him, Shadow’s voice high pitched with worry as he spoke.

“The building is going to collapse,” The words spilled out in a rush, as the thief sped down through the dark and cramped first floor along with Ouma. “They started the fire upstairs. The upstairs floor will give out, and this place will  _ topple _ .”

Ouma barely listened, flying around the ground floor in search of a clear exit.. He spied another flame in the kitchen, and wanted to cry, both from the overwhelming emotions and thoughts of  _ holy shit we’re gonna die,  _ and the smoke starting to clog the air and obstruct sight. In the dark and the panic, Ouma never seemed to see the door, as if the stupid exit would move out of sight every time he thought he found it. The layout of the building was absolutely the worst he’d ever seen, and the ridiculous amount of clutter disguising the actual shape of rooms made everything worse. In desperation, Ouma just ended up running and smashing through a window, as the glass was fragile enough to cave in when he threw his already speeding body weight into it.

Landing in the grass in the back of the house back first wasn’t pleasant, but was infinitely better than slowly burning to death. A thump next to him signaled Shadow following him out, and instead of dragging Ouma to his feet, the other just heaved the detective up and ran a bit farther into the woods a bit behind the house, far enough away to escape any risk of getting caught when the place went down. 

The treeline was far enough away from the house to not catch fire, and the distant sounds of sirens clued that someone had already seen what went down. So Shadow slowly stopped running, dropping Ouma to the ground as the other fell down, the adrenaline high from the events no longer enough to keep either of them standing.

So for at least an hour, the both of them sat in the woods, watching from a distance as the ceiling of the house caved in, and the fire was slowly put out. Ouma realized that he hadn’t said a single word to the person next to him, even if the other had spoken, if indirectly. For once, he was happy to keep the silence between them instead of provoking the other, as he was too tired to try and Shadow was bound to be too tired to engage.

And the night turned to dawn, and they just watched as the burnt husk that was left of that place sat, the sight of a near thievery and the scene of a brand new murder. 

Ouma laughed a bit. That night was certainly entertaining, to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters within 24 hours? Unbelievable.
> 
> And wow, this was fun to write. This chapter started with thinking about the seven minutes in heaven game, but turned into something else entirely. I wanted to make things more action-y, since the last few chapters were a bit tame, so yeah uh, this is what comes from that ^^; I'm likely never going to manage to write two chapters so soon after each other again, so yeah, enjoy!
> 
> Quick note too. I have basically all of the rest of the story figured out, so yay exciting :DD I hope that that means I'll be more determined to get to the end, now that I know what it is


	9. Aftermath of a Blaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saihara talks with Ouma, and then with Harukawa.

Interestingly enough, Saihara found himself more inclined to stare at the man next to him than the now scorched building.

Their relationship was. . . not even a relationship, really. Just an agreement to keep Saihara out and about and to give Ouma the entertainment that he desired. But somehow, both occasions that both of them clashed in were interrupted, by someone that neither of them even knew. A new criminal that was fast on their way to becoming a serial killer, who seemed to have the goal of making sure that each murder was weird and elaborate and staged right where Saihara always planned to be.

It looked like an attempt to make Saihara out to be the killer, which was already making things worse. Now, even if Ouma kept his mouth shut, new determination for everyone else on the force could still lead them to his identity. It wasn’t likely, seeing as Saihara was already the type to triple check that he hadn’t made any possible evidence previous to even leaving for a heist, and this new killer had burned down the only place that he’d possibly left a mistake at.

But this was still an issue. Because if the deal that he and Ouma made hinged on successful thievery, and this killer went out of their way to make sure that didn’t happen . . .

“Welp, this kinda puts our deal in the trash,” the detective spoke up, picking at the grass below and staring at the wreckage. “The new killer is certainly spicing things up, but it’s too unpredictable and gets in the way.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Saihara nodded along, even if Ouma couldn’t see him do it. “So what do we do?” The plumes of smoke from the fire were blocking the sky, making the area even darker. Even so, the image of that place still ablaze played behind Saihara’s eyes. “I don’t really  _ want  _ to keep having blackmail over my head-” Though he could easily counter said blackmail with his own threat, Saihara skipped over the chance. It wouldn’t do any good. Not now. “-Both of us are stuck to the whims of this new killer.”

The detective didn’t respond for a bit, face blank and body language languid. Saihara didn’t fill the silence, absent of anything to say. He leaned up against a nearby tree, fidgeting. Now that the fire was gone, its heat had disappeared, making the actual weather much more apparent. It was very clearly autumn, the bright tint of the leaves on the trees becoming more apparent in the slowly rising sunlight. Not quite cold, but still chilly. Neither of them were really dressed for the weather, but it didn’t really bother him too much. From the way that Ouma was barely even reacting to anything outside of incessantly ripping up blades of grass, it the detective didn’t care either.

Finally, the other spoke up with “Maybe we should cooperate.”

Saihara was too startled to respond with anything besides “Eh?”

“Well, we both really really want to keep this funky relationship we have going, right?” Ouma met his eyes. “So if this murder mystery is gonna keep on being a problem, working together to get rid of it is clearly the best option.”

It was, really. And Saihara wasn’t opposed either. If it meant that he could forget about the complicated ins and outs of the deal for a minute then he’d gladly accept. “It is.”

Ouma frowned exaggeratedly, lips pouted. “You aren’t even gonna be chivalrous and offer first? And I thought you were a gentleman.”

The humor was welcome, even if it was a bit off-putting. So Saihara responded with “Well, it  _ is _ ladies first.”

Ouma’s face morphed into scandalous shock, and fell backward with the back of his hand on his forehead. “And you have the audacity to call me a lady, too! Well, if you're gonna be a jerkface, I’ll just have to pick up the slack.” 

The detective stood up fully, sweeping his hair back dramatically and offering a hand to where Saihara was still sat back up against a tree. “Will you accept me, the most perfect and adorable detective ever, as your new investigative partner?”

Saihara took the hand, pushing himself up. “Sure.”

Ouma pumped a fist up, and then turned around to confidently stride away. Saihara followed behind, absently asking where they were going. The detective responded with a smirk and a finger to his lips. 

“Uh, nowhere,” Was the simple answer. “I just wanna walk while we talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“Well, first off, I was thinkin’. . .” Ouma started off, hands gesturing empathically. “We’re gonna be chasing down a murderer, so we should call them something. So that no one gets suspicious of us lurking and hiding in bushes to investigate or whatever.” He sent a more childish smile. “Plus, codenames are cool.”

“Huh. . .” While the logic that Ouma had chosen to use was flawed and very much  _ not  _ what Saihara planned on doing, the essence was right. Not flat-out saying that they were chasing a serial killer independent of law enforcement was important. But, “What should we call the killer? They have been, uhm,  _ eccentric  _ with how they murder, but nothing is really consistent.”

“Right, right . . .” Ouma crossed his hands behind his back, pensive. “So what if we just used the randomness as an identifying trait? At least until something specific comes to light later.” The detective turned around to face Saihara, walking backward. “Maybe let's just call them Rando! Simple and ambiguous.”

The name wasn’t perfect or flattering. But then again, they weren’t looking to flatter a murderer and Saihara wasn’t coming up with anything better, so he agreed. Afterward, they continued to walk aimlessly, watching as the sun rose above the horizon and shown almost directly into their eyes. Ouma complained vehemently, cursing out the sun with words that Saihara found unnecessarily cruel, but also funny to hear at such a minuscule inconvenience.

The amiable air was broken with a question from the detective. “So, when are we gonna meet again? Or more like  _ how _ , seeing as anything criminal will attract the person we’re trying to avoid.”

Saihara thought on it for a bit before answering. “Maybe we should just keep with what we’re doing. The best way to observe is to just experience it firsthand, right? That’s how it went with the library and now.”

“You’re not wrong, but you might not be considering that each encounter was a near-death experience, and those aren’t very good for a person's health. Especially if we’re gonna need to do something for a possible long-term.” Ouma huffed, before brightening. “Maybe we should just go on a date!”

“Wh-what?” 

“You heard me, dumbo,” The detective stopped walking and instead bounced excitedly in place. “A date! It’s perfect, actually. We can talk and stuff, and no one would really get suspicious since people go on dates all the time. And if you're worried about being seen with me, you already know that no one besides me knows who you are, and you're good enough at being sneaky to keep it that way.”

Once again, Saihara ended up reluctantly agreeing. The idea was really good, but the thought of having to act at least somewhat romantically with someone embarrassed Saihara to hell and back. He ended up waving goodbye to the detective while trying to keep a furious blush off his face.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


When he went through the front door of his and Harukawa’s shared apartment about an hour later, late morning, his roommate was livid.

At first, Harukawa just glowered at him, a dark aura hovering over her like a heavy fog as Saihara rushed to greet her and change into more comfortable clothes. He hadn’t managed to snag anything while he was out due to the fire, so he just slowly made his way onto the sofa, as far away from his roommate as possible. He tried to ignore her by reading a book, but the way he could feel her eyes burning blisters into his face kept Saihara from registering most of the book’s contents.

That horribly tense and awkward atmosphere lasted for an excruciating twenty minutes before the former assassin’s restraint gave out and she pinned the thief against the couch cushions, hand around his throat poised to throttle him at a moment's notice.

While Saihara anxiously avoided her eyes, the only thing Harukawa said was a forceful and dark “ **Explain yourself.** ”

Saihara spilled out all the events of the night as quickly as possible, stuttering and withering under the pressure of Harukawas glare. By the time he had finished the explanation, the other’s glare was less harsh and she’d climbed off of him where she had pinned him to the couch. Harukawa was still clearly upset, but it had changed from the terrifying display of anger to irritation.

“So now you and the detective are working together.” Was the first thing she said.

“Y-yeah. . .”

“I definitely want you to back out of this as soon as possible.” Harukawa crossed her arms, no longer boring holes into Saihara with her eyes. “But I can see why you can’t.” She sighed. “All I can really do for you is just tell you to finish the partnership as soon as possible so that things can go back to normal. Or, at least as normal as they can get.”

Saihara sighed along with her. “I want to get this over with too. But more than just so that I can get Ouma out of things.” He sat up from where he was still laying down on the sofa. “I don’t want people to end up dead. I know that there are people who deserve it, sometimes, but this killer clearly doesn’t care about that.”

“They just want to kill for kicks, huh.” Harukawa looked bitter, and Saihara knew all her hate was fully justified. “That’s noble of you, to want to save innocents like that. But. . .” She met his eyes, her red irises full of sincerity even if the rest of her face was neutral. “. . . keep yourself safe. Don’t let Ouma coerce you into any more bullshit, and  _ absolutely _ don’t let some selfish, murderous bastard do you in.”

Saihara grinned at her. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” His grin faltered a bit, but still stayed. “Or to Momota.”

Harukawa nodded. “Nor would I do that to you and Momota.”

The conversation fell flat after that, but it was welcome in exchange for comfortable silence where the two just enjoyed each other’s company, making sure to stay within each others’ sight for the rest of the day. Harukawa, just from a heated glance when Saihara touched the doorknob leading outside, wasn’t going to let him outside, so they sat around their modest apartment, eating the burnt eggs that Harukawa made for lunch (as it was so late in the day for breakfast that bothering to call it that was ridiculous) and lounging around.

That night, Saihara went to sleep without a single interruption, dreamless and content for the first time in what felt like years. Harukawa was there the whole time, both of them there to reassure each other that things were okay. At least for the night.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually love platonic Saihara and Harukawa so much ohgfujhgewd
> 
> Sososo! I kinda want to change the title, but I have no idea what to change it to, so you guys could leave suggestions maybe??? Or I could just leave it how it is if people like it.


	10. Questionable Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma chats with his friends about the date. Whether it was productive is debatable.

Ouma thought it was about time to spend his free time doing things that weren’t related to thievery and/or murder.

As soon as he was back in the office two days later - he’d called in sick for the day right after because there was no way in hell he was going to be able to work after nearly getting burned alive - he was swamped with having to slug through the evidence of the new murder. He was lucky there wasn’t as much this time, the charred state of the crime scene eliminating most evidence left behind. It also got rid of any sign that Ouma had been there the night before, which was a plus. The only thing gathered from that crime scene was that it was done very early in the morning, and that the body was already dead before the fire started. The most likely cause of death was a barely visible laceration left on the back of the neck. Even Ouma, who had been there, didn’t know much more than that. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the body, nor did he think to keep any details in mind.

Once people were satisfied that the detective had squeezed every last possible deduction out of the case, he was again allowed to do his aimless wandering around town. This particular afternoon, he thought it was about time he paid a visit to the two people he interacted with most outside of work. Skipping around town, Ouma made his way to an apartment complex and went to the fourth floor. Two doors down from the staircase, he pounded on the door and said “Hey, slut! Your supreme overlord is here!”

Loud rummaging and curses were heard behind the door, before an agitated blonde wretched it open. “The fuck you want, gremlin?”

Ouma smiled and rocked on his heels. “Oh, I just thought that stinky Miu would be getting lonely without her most esteemed guest to visit! I mean, Kii-boy can only keep you entertained for so long with his robot-ness.”

“Like I’d be slobbering over a crotch-rot like  _ you _ , ya purple Keebler elf,” The inventor sneered, but still opened the door wide enough for him to come in. “Get in before the stink of your rancid BO bothers the neighbors.”

Ouma skipped past Iruma into the apartment. The place was a modest size, but was overcrowded by the obscene amount of random machinery and metal scattered around. The kitchen table looked as if it was seconds away from toppling with the large, partway-done invention laying on top of it. Just looking at it couldn’t tell Ouma what the hell it was supposed to be, but taking Iruma’s track record into account made the detective cringe in preemptive disgust. “Damn! I know I call you a rotten, shit-stuffed pig - which you are - but you don’t have to make your whole apartment into a sty to match! What even  _ is  _ that on the table?”

“Shut your trap, shota,” Iruma stomped up from behind him, moving to start tinkering with the monstrosity on the table. “Cretins can’t understand the thought process of gorgeous girl geniuses like yours truly.” shoving her hand into a nearby pile of tools, the blonde pulled out a hammer and started banging arbitrarily on the machine. “By the way, this is my new masterpiece. This shit’ll blow your dick off once it’s done. Your puny brain can’t even  _ know. _ ”

Getting caught up in a word argument with Iruma wasn’t productive in the slightest, but the familiarity and fun of it was too much to resist. “Oh yeah? Like anything you make could be more revolutionary than a paperclip. And also, my dick happens to be superglued to me, so good luck trying to get it off.”

“Fuck you.”

“No way, Miu! My virginity is a precious relic. You’re flea-bitten, rat-infested, toxic waste encrusted excuse of a crotch can’t even come  _ close  _ to competing.”

Iruma only responded with an angry growl to that, a wrench clenched between her teeth as she drilled away at the still unrecognizable lump on the table. 

Ouma missed this. Ever since he started working as a detective, he’d lost connections with plenty of people from school. He and Iruma always managed to keep in contact, but then his rise in fame and recognition made time for them to talk few and far between. Not that Ouma didn’t enjoy his work - especially with what was going on recently - but stepping away from it to just spend time with old friends was welcome. While it wasn’t necessarily comforting or  _ quiet  _ to hang out with the inventor, it was relaxing to not have to worry about things all the time. 

In the lull of conversation, Ouma strolled over to the overstuffed sofa in the corner of the living space, shoving aside a suspicious lump in a garbage bag to make room. Iruma yelled through the wrench about him doing it, and he returned it with a loud raspberry. 

“So, Iruma,” He began, once the relative silence between them got to be too much. “What’re you doing nowadays besides fucking all the remotely dick-shaped things you see?”

Iruma swore at him, before giving a legitimate response. “Just this an’ that. Made more crap for the Do-Shit-While-You-Sleep line,” A concerning amount of sparks shot up from where Iruma was focusing, and the blonde shoved a nearby face shield on. “Been helpin’ Kiibo with his robo-mecha sex dolls.”

A yell from the other room interrupted the inventor then. “They are  _ not  _ s-sex dolls, Miu! You know that!”

“You know they are, Kiibs!” Iruma shouted back, cackling. “Or at least that’s what the populous is gonna use ‘em for!”

Instead of a reply, the aforementioned “Kiibs” entered from a side room. In contrast to Iruma’s wild haircut and mysteriously stained clothes, the other was relatively clean, a pair of goggles strapped around their head. “They’re intended as helpers for those that are handicapped, Miu. That is in no way  _ sexual _ .”

The woman just kept on laughing from behind the face shield and waved the other away. Ouma cheerily waved at the inventor’s roommate and said “Kiiboy! My favorite robot!”

“You know that I’m not a robot, Kokichi.”

Ouma giggled and reassured that “Of  _ course  _ I know that, Kiiboy!”, before watching his two friends start discussing their work. All the technical jargon flew right over his head, so the detective just turned to his own thoughts. Like Kiibo. The guy, contrary to what Ouma himself constantly said, was not a robot. He was a roboticist, one that Ouma had been introduced to by Iruma in secondary school. The poor boy had immediately been subject to an avalanche of comments about being a robot for his rather mechanical and monotone way of talking. In Ouma’s defense, even now the robotics expert could sound exactly like a text-to-speech engine when it came to the tone of his words.

In other words, now was the perfect time to ask the two for advice. Sure, they weren’t detectives, but they were smart either way. Plus, that’s what friends did right? Give advice and gossip and crap. It’d be a great icebreaker for the seeming eternity it had been since the three communicated in person. And the two had to have at least  _ some  _ dating experience, right?

Not that the date that Ouma had convinced Shadow to go on was a  _ real  _ date. But it’d help to make it more convincing to other people. And so that Ouma doesn’t fuck everything up by being a douche or spending too long staring at Shadows face. It was less prominent and startling now, but the criminal was still very much attractive. Which was a problem when the detective was taking the guy on a (fake) date. For strictly business reasons related to actual legitimate murder.

“Hey,” completely disregarding where the two were in their own discussion, Ouma butted in. “You two have any dating experience? And I don’t mean shitty one night stands or sexting, you slut.”

While the blonde simpered from the insult, Kiibo responded with curiosity. “Why would you need to know that? And for the record, no, I have not dated before.”

“Prolly cause the twink finally found someone he wants to fuck,” Iruma giggled, recovering her bravado. “Well tell us! Who’s the sorry bastard that got stuck with your shrimp dick?”

“Unlike  _ you,  _ I don’t automatically want to sleep with everyone that catches my interest.” the deadpan tone that Ouma said it with caused the inventor's mouth to snap shut. “But I am going on a date with someone. Not for romance or anything, but for business. The detective-y shit that you guys would never understand. I just need it to  _ look  _ lovey-dovey. Cause it’s undercover.”

“So,” Kiibo started before the blonde could respond. “You need our help to make it seem like a romantic date from an outside perspective?”

“Exactly, Kiibot!” Ouma affirmed. “I knew that someone as smart as you would understand, unlike that cum dumpster next to you.” The dig was enough to get the inventor to stumble, and a high pitched keen to escape her. Kiibo, concerned, immediately went to make sure she didn’t fall, while Ouma quietly tried to ignore the scene. “You got any tips for little ol’ me?”

“Uhm.” The roboticist looked unsure of how to respond, a blush darkening his face. How he could be embarrassed at the mention of dating yet live with Iruma was baffling. “Physical touch is a sign of affection, I think. Like hugs and holding hands and such.”

“Ignoring how extreme of a virgin you are,” Kiibo sputtered, but Ouma kept going. “I think everyone on the planet knows that.”

“Well, if this mystery man is enough to get your bitch ass all hot n’ bothered,” Iruma finally joined the discussion again. “He’s gotta be smokin’ hot. Makes your shriveled dick hard just thinking of him, huh? Hah, can’t believe that someone could manage that.”

The pointing out of the light flush on Ouma’s face from thinking about Shadow made the detective want to curse the woman out until the next year, but instead he just pouted and nodded. “It’s not at all that bad, but he is stupid attractive. Like, it should be  _ illegal  _ to have his face.”

“Damn, shota. Didn’t expect ya to be honest about it.”

“Well, I came to your shit-stained ass for help, so that should excuse the honesty.” 

Both Iruma and Kiibo were silent. Extremely uncomfortable with the combined confession and silence, Ouma quietly shifted in his seat, kicking his legs and masking the unease with a childish smile. 

“. . .Well, as I said, I do not have any dating experience.” the roboticist started slowly. “But the only thing that you should do is be yourself, as cliche as that sounds. If you want him to genuinely like you, make sure he likes the most real version of you.”

“Jus’ like Kiibs said. Plus, you're an expert liar, right?” Iruma leaned against the table, drill in her hand pointed at Ouma’s face. “If you wanna make him fuck you, be all flirty. Be charming enough that he falls worse for you than you have for him. Then you can be the dom in the eventual fuck session you’ll have.” She grinned wide, shoulders back. “Ya get the guy and get in his ass. Win-win, shrimp dick.”

As much as Ouma hated to admit it, the duo were right for once. Sure, the date was fake and only so they could figure out what to do about the murderer - Rando, or whatever the fuck Ouma said he’d call them - but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t take the opportunity and get Shadow to like him. The detective wasn’t really ready for a full on relationship, but  _ boy  _ would it be fun to try and get the thief to fall for him.

It could be a temporary game then. Or maybe a time limit. In the time it takes for the murderer to get caught, Ouma has to get Shadow to fall for him. Bonus points if the criminal confesses it. Even if he doesn’t, Ouma would know when the other fell for him. After all, it’s extremely hard to hide attraction. Even for Ouma, if how he couldn’t fully hide his flush earlier had anything to say.

So that’s the new plan. Go to the date, and start the new game. Simple enough. And plenty fun too. The manipulator in Ouma was already giddy for it. 

e

Ouma spent the rest of his time with his friends gleefully, a plot to get Shadow’s heart already unfolding in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part about writing Ouma and Iruma together is running out of insults and figuring out how many times you can put an innuendo in a sentence O-o
> 
> Yeah I feel bad that this chapter took so long to get out oops. Mostly it was because I spent time trying to figure out how to get to the next major plot point. I thought "hey I neglected to acknowledge that Ouma has a life outside of detective-ing too" so yeeyee this that :) Hope no one was too OOC


	11. The (Sort-of) Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time of the date finally arrives. Things happen.

No matter how much Saihara repeated to himself that the date was for business, his hyperactive heart wouldn’t stop pounding out of his chest.

He couldn’t exactly tell why; part of it felt mostly like he was just starving for affection. Not that that fact was wrong in any way, as his parent’s take on raising him was on the distant side. His uncle tried his best, but there’s only so much attentiveness the man could have in between back to back murder cases. Also combined with Saihara’s turn to crime, his deprived brain attached to any sign of affection like a beggar to crumbs. 

Another was just regular anxiety. Sure, he’d already gotten to know Ouma at least a little bit, if saving him from getting his head smashed in combined with escaping a burning building with him counted as bonding. But Saihara, no matter with a friend or stranger, still feels at least a little bit of nervousness talking. He’d long ditched the hat he’d worn in secondary school, but the urge to hide never fully left. So excessive worry over the meeting could also be caused by that.

Ridiculous, seeing as he had been practically piled on top of him inside a tiny closet just the other week. And also orchestrated the stealing of several valuable items and talked to him at those occasions as well. Maybe the stress of being in a life or death situation pushed away the social anxiety. Who knows.

Either way, Saihara was sitting at his and Harukawa’s small dining room table, nursing a mug of tea that was doing a horrible job of calming him and also slightly burning his hands. Harukawa out at the moment, but the words of advice she’d spilled before she left still rolled around in his head. Not that her statements were particularly wordy.

When he’d asked about how to go about the date, she’d just glanced at him and replied. “Just don’t fuck up and incriminate yourself or something. Or let Ouma pull anything.”

Saihara had questioned what would happen if he did, and her eyes glowed and her face darkened. “If it comes to that, I can just cut out his tongue to keep him quiet. The world wouldn’t miss it.”

. . . Thinking back, maybe his worry was just concern over just what exactly that encounter would look like. Just envisioning it was horrifying, so Saihara shoved the mug of tea back to his mouth, hoping that the heat of the drink would distract from his thoughts. The intrusive ones, at least. He still needed at least _some_ brain power to keep himself steady.

Alright. So the meet was supposed to happen at a nearby cafe, just a bit before noon. Casual, as to prevent suspicion. And the whole acting-like-a-couple thing to also prevent suspicion. Yeah. Saihara put the mug down and ran a hand through his hair. He could definitely do that, no problem.

So before he could overthink it more than he already was, the thief stood up, accidentally knocking over his chair, and marched for the door, heading out.

  
  
  


-

  
  


Saihara was both surprised and unfazed to see that Ouma wasn’t there when he arrived. Surprising because he had gotten the idea that Ouma was the more punctual type, even if he seemed insistent on painting himself as a more lax type. Unsurprising, because Saihara himself, as a result of his impulsive exit, was half an hour early.

  
  


So he shuffled into the shop and sat down at the booth farthest from the door, not making eye contact with the few people in the shop already. In the process, he ended up looking down at his hands, which led to the realization that Saihara had neglected to put the mug of tea away, and hence carried it all the way with him to the shop. The only way Saihara could think to hide his mortification at the action was to play it off, drinking it to hide his expression.

That was the sight that greeted Ouma when he arrived a few minutes later, also early. With Saihara gripping onto the mug for dear life, like letting go would cause him to fall through the floor and into the center of the Earth.

When the detective inevitably questioned him on why he had brought a random mug, he was too embarrassed to respond. Ouma gave up pestering, and slid into the booth with an unnecessary flourish.

The detective was obviously wearing casual clothes, like Saihara was. While it was casual, it did stand out in vibrancy. A white jacket, with a purple shirt underneath, combined with jeans and sneakers. The checkered bandana that Saihara had seen him wearing at all their past run-ins was hung around his neck, looking a bit more tattered in the clearer midday light than how it’d appeared in the dark. While Saihara was scanning the outfit, a smirk was developing on the detective’s face.

“So, my _beloved_ ,” How the other had already launched into the flowery language caused a blush to darken Saihara’s face. It only grew more fierce as the purple-haired man posed exaggeratedly, chin high and shoulders back. “Like whatcha see? You were staring at me for a hot moment there!”

“A-ah-” Saihara choked a bit, waving his hands. “That’s not it at all! It’s just. . .” He pulled a face. “. . . A bit weird to see you in a more normal setting for once.”

Ouma smacked his hands on the table. “Ohmygod, _same_ . Like, your not wearing you stupid black _everything_ anymore. I wouldn’t have recognized you if your ugly mug-” Ouma stopped and pointed at the ceramic coffee mug still in front of Saihara “-and your _literal_ ugly mug hadn’t been radiating your emo-ness like some sort of disease.”

Saihara didn’t respond to the provocation. Instead, he sighed. “Do you want to stop causing a scene? We’re supposed to be unnoticed right now. Speaking of, we should get to the reason we’re here.”

He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then started. “O-okay, so there’s a killer on the loose. Obviously. Um, they only started showing up a few weeks ago, as far as I’m aware. With the murder of that person in the library. From there, they went on to murder, ah, I think the name was Shinguji?”

“Correct! The crisped body from the burned building was Shinguji Korekiyo, some boring researcher person. The most likely cause of death was a cut to the back of the neck, not the fire, actually! Everyone thinks that our killer pulled the arson stunt to get rid of evidence.”

Saihara absorbed that. So before they’d even arrived, the killer had likely killed the body and stashed it in the house. The killing blow was from outside the house because Ouma and himself probably would have heard it if the victim were killed so close by. And the arson. . .

“With the fire, I was wondering. . .” Saihara started, and Ouma whined for him to continue. “What was with what the killer said? ‘Cultural melting pot’, I believe. It seems out of place.”

“Huh, it was weird, wasn’t it? Maybe they’re just bonkers. I mean, a lot of people who do boring shit like crime have gone of the deep end,” Ouma then brightened, hands clasped to his chin in mimicry of lovesickness. “But not the dumbo sitting in front of me! Nuh-uh, Mr. Edgy is the most entertaining and sane person ever.”

“. . . right.”

“But maybe what they said had some hidden meaning! Like a code phrase. Maybe it was so they could let some of their other psycho buddies know about the kill. Or it was like staking claim, like how dogs pee on trees and stuff. Maybe it was just a catchphrase. Maybe the person was still alive and it was a message for them, maybe-”

“Woah, _slow down_ , Ouma! I can’t keep up with all of that when you say it back to back. And isn’t that a few too many possibilities. . ?

Ouma clapped. “Exactly! Without knowing anything, we could theorize and guess until we die and _still_ not get the right answer! We just gotta put a rain check on it for now.”

“Okay then. If we can’t figure out how the past murders worked, can we try and find clues at the next?” Saihara suggested. “Not like I _want_ another person to die, but-”

“Oh? But I thought you were a big bad criminal!” Ouma interrupted, eyes watery and lip trembling forebodingly. “H-have you been l-lying about th-that? A-a-are you just s-some n- _normie_ pretending to b-be interesting!?”

Shit. Even though Ouma knew they couldn’t cause a scene, he was already working up a bout of crocodile tears. Saihara butted in again before it could get any worse. “ _But_ , we need something new to look at if we can’t find anything with what we have, right? You’re the detective here.”

“Indeed I am. . .” 

“Can you just answer the question?”

“Mmhm!” Said Ouma.

“So. . ?” God, it was like pulling teeth with him.

“Soooo, we should probably figure out where and who our precious psycho is gonna kill next! And be there again, so we can catch some evidence live. Easy peasy!” Ouma fiddled with the sugar packets on the table as he was talking.

“Yeah, I get that, but how do we pull that off?” Saihara fidgeted with the mug in return. “Both times in the past, we almost ended up dying. . . and didn’t we already go over this the other day?”

“We sure did! And because we did that so long ago, I came up with a few ideas on how to do it deathless.” Ouma paused. “Excluding the person who has to die so that everything happens right.”

The thief nodded at that. “I did too. The only thing I could come up with was that I probably need to set the stage again. The past two murders took place where I was planning to steal, after all.”

“That’s part of the plan I had. But we need to decide where you do it, so it works in our favor. So avoiding open spaces with too many exits or crowded places with too many hiding spots is ideal. But still elaborate enough so that if something goes wrong we can get away easily.”

“So, what does that leave us with?”

“Well,” Ouma clucked his tongue. “I thought of that place you stole that flower painting from. When we first agreed to have chitchats?”

“Why there? I mean, it’s really good with few exits and hiding spots, but won’t it be harder to break in if they’re wary now? From my first theft.”

“Yep! That’s why it’s so perfect. You see,” The detective leaned forward, grinning. “You’ve already been in and out without getting seen _once_. You know the layout better than the killer. And. . .”

Saihara couldn’t help leaning forward a bit too. “And?”

“Well, little ol’ me did some digging on it,” The detective pulled out a phone, scrolling down a long list. “About the history, architecture, etc. And it turns out that the ceiling has open rafters. So if we wanted, we could just watch from above while the murderer does their thing, and then fall right on top of them and scare them shitless!”

“That sounds good, but won’t we run into the issue that I’m still a criminal? If the force gets there and asks for an alibi, I can’t just say the truth. And even if they believe a lie, I’d still get way too much suspicion on me to carry out any other plots in the future.”

“Thought of that too. So, we’re gonna do this during the day!”

Saihara choked. “During the _day_? Th-that’s even worse!”

“Nope, it’s the better option.” Ouma sat back, placing the phone on the table. “I’m going to. . . _trust_ . . that you can pull off a heist in daylight. But do it behind the scenes. So try and go for something they have in storage, I guess. The murder will likely follow your lead in that case. I can go to the gallery as a regular visitor to see if I can catch them while in the open.”

“O-okay, I can try that,” Saihara nodded, hesitant. “We can do this in a few weeks, I suppose, so that things with the fire blow over a bit more.”

“Sure, partner!” Ouma held out a hand. “Shake on it?”

Saihara took the hand. “Uhm, yeah. Shake on it.”

  
  


-

  
  


Saihara went home and immediately crashed into the sofa. He proceeded to grab one of the small pillows haphazardly piled onto it and scream into it, fairly loudly. Then didn’t move for several hours.

Harukawa came home with a singular bag of groceries and looked at him. Then turned around and put said groceries into their cabinets and small refrigerator. She glanced at the table when she was finished, then looked at Saihara. “Where’d you put the mug you had earlier?”

Saihara had thought he’d taken the poor cup back.

He hadn’t.  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post but it was HELL to write with writer's block and I have a lot of trouble writing conversations and just edfrgbhfredw sorry
> 
> For a solid two days I completely forgot that this scene even needed to be written so then I had to remember and then feel dread about how horrible I am at writing conversations and then writer's block hit me like a truck and only by sheer force of will did I drag myself out of the slump and write it. This is probably really bad because of that and even if it isn't I hate it for all the trouble it gave me. I know I usually use this space to update about the story as a whole but fuck it I just wanna complain.


	12. Setting the stage 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first step to the plan. Events don't follow a straight line, however. . .

The museum looked beautiful that day, inside and out.

There was a showing that night, but the place had opened its doors to the public midday, as a sort of prelude for the special event. Even so, the building was decorated lavishly to match the canvases inside, colorful banners and signs littering the walls while the marble pillars and floor glittered in both the natural light from the many skylights in the roof above and fairy lights strung between hallways. The doors to every single sight were open, including the entrance, passerby allowed to wander and marvel at the art as they pleased. 

The flow of people was continuous, unending. For the early hour and rather uninteresting topic of art to the typical person, the museum was practically flooding, not exhibit not filled and no art piece not flocked by at least a small crowd, the flickering of cameras matching with how light reflected off shimmery frames. Of course, this crowd would be nothing compared to how it would look when the showing really started, starring another gorgeous piece by Yonaga Angie. Unlike the artist’s typical paintings, this one was regarded as a complete masterpiece by all who had seen it so far. So much so that people were rumoring it’d go down in art history at some point.

Despite the immense amount of gossip surrounding it, no one except the most esteemed had seen the artwork yet, so this showing was going to be packed full of those who wanted to see such a prized work in person. So many, in fact, that some of the people who had arrived at the museum that afternoon just wanted to be early enough to see it before the crowd blocked the view.

All of these factors came together to make that day the best chance of a successful break-in. So much so, that Ouma was able to wander around completely unrestricted with Shadow - both dressed more or less casually, of course - for the majority of the first half of their scout. Finding storage wasn’t too hard, but the copious amount of people standing around, combined with neither of them being particularly tall made it just that much harder. 

They still managed to find it, a door in a relatively empty part of the building, with a few people standing around, looking at the art pieces that surrounded it. None of them warranted any sort of extra attention, as they were all just regular people, so Ouma and Shadow confirmed with each other the plan, and the detective watched the criminal slip into the door unnoticed.

Well, that concluded the seemingly hardest part. Now all the purple-haired man was left to do was to wander among the museum-goers, and make sure nothing went wrong from an outside perspective. It wasn’t likely, seeing as the criminal must’ve been some sort of ninja to pull of such flawless crimes and Ouma was overly paranoid and thus created many,  _ many  _ backup plans for every single “what if something went wrong” scenario that he could think of over the span of two hours. But you never know. It was daylight, and there were tons of people. There was practically no chance that someone wouldn’t spot something if either of them slipped up, be it the combined effort of Ouma and Saihara, or their mystery killer.

So instead of more endless worrying, Ouma relied on the fact that he hadn’t made a mistake on a plan and focused on people watching. That was a sort of second part of his job; Being there to see if the killer was out in the open instead of behind the scenes, where Shadow was. The other was also watching out from above, in case he could see where the murderer was while escaping with the stolen item that they had decided on taking. 

Besides, peoplewatching was more entertaining.Not by much, or at all, but it beat collapsing of exhaustion from worrying, so.

Ouma ambled around, taking in the art, people, and surroundings in general. He definitely wasn’t that interested in art, nor well versed in it, so his appreciation was most likely not the best, but. Most of the paintings hung up were still lifes, or vague images that looked as if they were trying to represent  _ something _ , or otherwise uninteresting. The museum goers were mostly the same, completely unremarkable, and fawning over the pieces like they weren’t the giant conglomerate of smears they were. 

The building itself was worth appreciating, at least. The lights cast a nice ambiance, and the decor wasn’t too garish, either. That was most likely the point, as to not distract from the displays. 

Ouma groaned exaggeratedly, earning a few glances he didn’t pay attention to. Barely ten minutes in and this already felt excruciating. But he had to suck it up eventually. Letting something as commonplace as  _ boredom _ cause his guard to come down and miss the target would be enough for him to just end it all right there. 

. . . Maybe not that extreme, but  _ very  _ close to it. He wasn’t about to have his career crashed by a low attention span.

So Ouma did what he did best. He lied.

His gait went from leisure to hyper as he put on an excited tourist act. Bouncing around from canvas to canvas, oohing and aahing like the mindless sheep already doing so. Getting into conversations about art that he only put attention to so he could come up with a suitably engaged response to whatever it was that the other person was saying. Pestering kids, just because it was funny and also indirectly pestered fellow adults. 

On his path of semi-destruction, Ouma kept a hawk eye out for anyone shifty. It was a bit hard, seeing as he was barely over five feet tall, but the fact that most of the parents had started avoiding him cleared the area around him a decent amount. So that made it a fair bit easier to see.

It also made it easier to see someone who looked just the right amount of annoyed for Ouma to successfully bother. A girl with long, dark brown hair and intimidating red eyes standing all by her lonesome.

So Ouma sauntered his way over and said “Hey, miss! Who pissed in you cereal to make you glare like that?”

She immediately turned to face him, and yep, that was definitely an extremely ticked off look. Her eyes held a little bit of shock for a moment, but it was gone in moments in the face of irritation. “Leave me be.”

“Nuh-uh, that’s not gonna work, miss,” Ouma replied. “You see, I’m legally obligated to be here to comfort all the poor kids that you scared by looking like that. I don’t make the rules!”

Her face darkened more. “Shut up. I didn’t come here to get harassed by some. . “ she eyed him distastefully. “. .  _ rodent _ .”

“You wound me! I should just get my grave dug right now, your insults are killer!” he whined. “Before I die, can I at least know the name of my murderer?”

“No.”

Ohoho, that’s an opportunity. “Please??”

“No.”

“Please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-”

A hand slapped over his mouth. “I said shut it!” The girl looked straight evil now. “Ugh. Fine. It’s Harukawa.”

Ouma smiled behind her hand. A moment later, Harukawa ripped her hand away, disgust showing in all her features. Her eyes flicked from the shiny stain on her palm to the grin on the detective’s face. “You LITTLE-”

“Little what?” ouma clucked his tongue. “Precision of language is key, Harukawa! Don’t want to give me the wrong message or anything.”

“Hey-”

“Or  _ were  _ you going to tell me something like that? Was that your intention? Or were you insulting me?” Crocodile tears were building in the corners of Ouma’s eyes. Harukawa looked like she’d swallowed a lemon.

“WAHHHH! YOUR SUCH A MEANIE!!” Many, many people were looking now, and the detective almost felt bad. Getting a rise out of this woman was just too fun. “I can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to use insults to try and hurt me!”

The brunette didn’t even attempt to respond. Her fists were trembling with tension at her sides, her bangs covering her eyes. Ouma blinked, and then she was lunging at him, dark red eyes glinting into blood red.

The next ten minutes were spent with Ouma booking it through the halls while Harukawa chased him, bloodlust in her eyes. It was entertaining, and extremely helpful, in reality. Now that he was being chased, tourists were even more inclined to get out the way, and all their faces were turned towards him, in order to witness the debacle. Both he and Harukawa turned out to have excellent stamina, meaning that Ouma had an opportunity to see absolutely every single persons’ face as he ran around, having the energy to do so.

That golden chance was what caused him to see the one person who hadn’t turned to look. While he was running, he didn’t get the best look, but it was enough to identify and start to slow down. 

That unfortunately meant that his pursuer caught up to him, and he was lifted off his feet by the neck before he could actually go and see who it was that was suspicious.

He couldn’t think about it much, as his airway was cut off and it was making him a bit lightheaded. He coughed, but it didn’t do much. The now very-much-capable-of-murder Harukawa pulled him closer to her face. She was seething. “Listen here,  _ runt _ .” She spat the words with enough venom that Ouma couldn’t hold back a genuine flinch.

Still, he choked out, “I-I guess th-this does m-make you my m-murderer, h-huh?”

Her grip tightened, and Ouma’s hands scratched at her knuckles. The bystanders watching the spectacle gasped, but Ouma could barely see them through his swimming vision and unwanted tears.

“You are going to leave me alone,” Harukawa hissed, “Or your neck-” Her hand clenched hard enough to prevent all air flow. Ouma gaped soundlessly. “- **snaps.** Alright?”

She let him fall to the floor, disappearing from the scene before anyone could stop her. Instantly Ouma was swarmed by concerned passerby, which he waved away. The only thing he was thinking about was the glimpse of glasses and blue hair he’d gotten earlier. The only one looking away. There was no way that he would find them again at this rate, too much attention on himself for a killer to bother with. 

It was amazing he’d gotten enough information about appearance to use in the future, but now there wasn’t much he could do. His throat ached, and he was tired from the run. The rest of the plan was basically all up to Shadow now.

The detective waved away the crowd, slipping away to collect his thoughts. Like he’d said, he couldn’t do much now. But he could let Shadow know about what he’d learned. Glasses, long blue hair. Not much, but crucial.

Looking up, All he saw was empty rafters and dirty vents. Shadow was up there, most likely either looking at him, or scanning the area. Chances were he already had stolen something and was just holding on to it. Chances were also that he was looking at Ouma, due to the commotion of him getting throttled by that girl earlier. So Ouma held his his hands up and signed up toward the ceiling.

_ ‘Look for glasses, blue hair.’ _

He repeated the message, facing in different directions, moving his hands as clearly as possible. There was no way to know of Shadow actually saw, so he just hoped so. There was no way that this could fail. No way.

  
  


No way.

No way. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if I made it clear, but Ouma was using sign language. I thought it'd be more fitting than morse code or something verbal because there's no way that Saihara would hear him from like 5 meters up in the air, and all the noise, so.
> 
> Alright! We're trucking along. This was the part of the story that I was looking forward to the most. Hope you like it as much as I do! Tthis chapter wasn't that bad to write, but school was just extra annoying this week and made it hard to make time. It's out though! This is around the halfway point, and that makes me SO HAPPY because I think that I can actually finish it, which will be a first! Have a nice day :DDDD


End file.
